Stories To Tell In The Dark

End Of The Hall

The house on Hollowbrook Lane had always been a strange one. Situated on the edge of a small town, it was an imposing structure, towering over the neighboring houses, its windows dark and its frame twisted with age. People would talk about it when they thought no one was listening—how the house had been empty for decades, its owners vanishing without a trace, and how no one dared to go near it. Yet, there it stood, untouched by time or progress, as if something in the house was holding the world at bay.

The house had been abandoned for so long that no one could even remember the last time anyone lived there. The locals had long since stopped trying to make sense of the stories that swirled around the house. Most just avoided it, walking quickly past the iron gate and the overgrown yard. The few who didn’t, those who dared to take a closer look, often spoke of a strange pull, an oppressive atmosphere, as if something unseen was watching them, waiting for them to enter.

And then, after all these years of silence, it was bought.

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Bonnie Williams was a journalist from a city far away. She wasn’t like the others who had come and gone over the years—those who had thought they could unlock the mystery of Hollowbrook Lane with a few questions and a couple of timid glances at the house. Bonnie wasn’t afraid of it. She was a seeker of truth, a woman driven by curiosity, her mind filled with questions that had to be answered.

When she moved into the house, her only thought was of the story it could provide. She wanted to write a book about the place—about the history, about the disappearances, about the strange aura that clung to the house like a second skin. She had heard the rumors, of course, but in her mind, they were nothing more than superstition. The town itself was small and isolated, its people superstitious and unwilling to talk about anything that didn’t fit into their narrow worldview. Bonnie was different. She was a skeptic. She believed in facts, not folklore.

When the realtor handed her the keys and left her alone in the old house, Bonnie felt a strange sense of excitement. The house creaked and groaned as though it were waking up, stretching after years of neglect. The rooms were vast and shadowy, the air thick with dust and age. The floorboards sagged underfoot, and the smell of mildew hung in the corners of the rooms like a secret. But Bonnie didn’t mind. She was already imagining the chapters, the interviews, the research she would do. This would be her big break.

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The first few days were uneventful. Bonnie spent her time unpacking, setting up her small office in the back room. The house seemed to settle into her presence, responding to her like a wary animal that had allowed her to enter but was waiting for her to make the wrong move. As the sun dipped below the horizon each evening, the house grew darker, its creaking and groaning more pronounced. But Bonnie, focused on her work, hardly noticed.

It wasn’t until the fourth night that she first heard the noises.

At first, they were faint—a soft scratching, a faint tapping at the door, a rustling from the farthest corners of the house. Bonnie chalked it up to the house settling. It was old, after all, and old houses had a tendency to make strange sounds when the wind blew just right or when the temperature changed. But as the hours stretched on, the noises became more insistent. A dragging sound across the floor, the scuffing of shoes against wood, the unmistakable sound of something—or someone—moving around in the house.

Bonnie tried to ignore it. She was tired, after all, and she had a deadline looming over her. But as the night deepened, the noises grew louder. She stood up from her desk, her heart thudding in her chest. For a moment, she thought she saw a shadow move across the hallway outside her office. The floorboards creaked under the weight of something moving slowly, deliberately.

With a deep breath, Bonnie grabbed a flashlight and stepped into the hallway. The beam of light cut through the darkness, illuminating nothing but dust-covered furniture and long-forgotten family portraits. But there, at the far end of the hall, was something that made her blood run cold.

At the very end of the hallway was a door. It wasn’t a regular door. It was different from the others, its wood darker, its frame more intricate, as if it were part of something else—a room that had once been hidden from view. Bonnie had never noticed it before. She was certain it hadn’t been there when she first toured the house.

The door was cracked open. Just slightly.

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Against her better judgment, Bonnie walked toward the door. The air around her felt thick, almost suffocating. The house seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something to happen. The closer she got, the more intense the feeling became—like there was something wrong, something unnatural, about that door.

Her hand reached out, trembling, and pushed it open.

Inside was a room she hadn’t expected—a small, cramped space, barely big enough for a bed and a single chair. The walls were covered in peeling wallpaper, the floor cluttered with old furniture and abandoned belongings. The room was cold, colder than the rest of the house. Bonnie stepped inside, her flashlight sweeping across the floor.

That’s when she saw it.

There, in the corner of the room, was a mirror.

It wasn’t an ordinary mirror. The frame was dark and twisted, with intricate carvings that seemed to move when she wasn’t looking directly at them. The glass was clouded, smudged with something that Bonnie couldn’t quite make out. But as her gaze lingered, she felt something shift in the air, like the temperature had dropped another few degrees.

Without thinking, she stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest. Her reflection stared back at her, but something was wrong. Her face looked… off. The colors were distorted, the shadows around her face too deep. And behind her, in the dim reflection, she could make out a figure standing in the doorway.

Bonnie spun around, but no one was there.

She turned back to the mirror. The figure in the reflection was still there. But this time, it was closer. The shape was vague, shadowy, but unmistakable. A man. A tall figure with dark, hollow eyes.

Bonnie backed away from the mirror, her breath quickening. She turned and ran out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. But the feeling lingered—like something had followed her, something that wasn’t quite human. She could feel its presence, like a weight on her chest, pressing in on her from all sides.

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The next day, Bonnie was determined to put the incident behind her. She had to focus on her work, on the book she was writing. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The house felt different now—heavier, as if it were watching her every move.

That night, the noises returned.

It wasn’t just the occasional scuffling sound. This time, it was louder, more frantic. The floorboards creaked with the weight of something moving rapidly, and the walls seemed to groan under the pressure. Bonnie’s heart hammered in her chest as she climbed out of bed. She grabbed the flashlight and stood still for a moment, straining her ears to hear.

And then she heard it—a voice, low and raspy, coming from the room at the end of the hall.

“You shouldn’t have opened it.”

Bonnie froze. The voice sounded like it was right behind her, in the very room with her, but when she turned around, the room was empty.

Her pulse raced. She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to leave.

But when she opened her bedroom door to make her way to the stairs, she found herself standing at the end of the hallway again. The door at the end of the hall was open. It wasn’t just open—it was wide, inviting her in.

Bonnie’s breath caught in her throat. She tried to turn back, but the house wouldn’t let her. The hallway stretched on impossibly long, the door at the end beckoning her closer.

With no choice but to face whatever was inside, she took a step forward.

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The room was darker than she remembered. The mirror was gone.

Instead, the walls were covered in scratches. Long, jagged lines had been gouged into the wood, some of them so deep that the wood itself had splintered and cracked. The floor was littered with strange markings—symbols she couldn’t recognize. Her mind struggled to make sense of it, but the air around her was thick with an overwhelming sense of dread.

And then, she heard the breathing.

It wasn’t hers. It wasn’t the house settling. It was slow, deliberate, like the exhale of something ancient and hungry. Bonnie spun around, her flashlight flickering, but there was no one in the room.

No one was visible.

But there, in the corner, in the shadows, she could feel the presence. Something was there, watching her, waiting.

Before she could move, the door slammed shut behind her.

The room grew colder, the air thickening, pressing in on her from all sides. Bonnie’s heart pounded in her chest as she stumbled backward, her back hitting the wall. Her flashlight fell from her hand, the beam cutting across the room in wild arcs. The shadow in the corner moved—just a flicker at first, then a shape, then a figure.

And then, she heard the voice

again.

“You should have left,” it whispered, its tone no longer a warning but a promise.

The door was locked. There was no way out. The house had claimed her. The room at the end of the hall had claimed her.

And soon, it would claim the next one.